Books: Jim Cummings
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Frank Pinkerton >> Jim Cummings
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Dan was busily engaged in trying to solve this knotty question when the
bailiff in charge entered the door and told Dan to follow him to the
office.
When Dan reached the room he found three gentlemen awaiting him, all
strange faces to the robber. The eldest of the three, as he came in,
pointed to a chair, and with commanding brevity and in a tone which
indicated that he was used to being obeyed, told him to sit down.
The full glare of the light streaming in through the window fell full
upon his face, while the remainder of the party, their faces turned
toward him, were comparatively in the shadow, thus having him at a
disadvantage. As was before remarked, Moriarity possessed a certain
amount of bull courage, and seeing he was in for it, and feeling that he
was to be put through the sweating process he sat erect in his chair,
his lips compressed and his whole demeanor that of a cornered man
determined to fight.
Mr. Pinkerton saw that and with courteous suavity inquired, "Is this Mr.
Moriarity?"
"What's the use of asking me; you know well enough who I am," replied
Dan, in short, curt syllables.
"Of course, of course; but I thought I might be mistaken."
"Well, you aren't."
"Now, Mr. Moriarity, I think if you are inclined to you can get yourself
out of this scrape."
"Ya-as, I suppose so.
"You will let me introduce myself. My name is William Pinkerton."
Dan looked at the great detective with interest and a certain amount of
awe, which, however, he quickly overcame and determined to keep a
stiffer upper lip than ever.
"Oh! You're Billy Pinkerton, are you?"
"Yes, I am Billy Pinkerton, and I've been hunting for you for some
time."
"Well, you ought to be satisfied; you've caught me."
"More than satisfied, Mr. Moriarity, for I've caught your friend too."
"Cook?"
"Oh, he was jailed before you."
"You don't mean Jim?"
"Exactly."
"You can't stuff me with any such yarn as that."
"Would you like to see him?" asked Mr. Pinkerton, quickly.
"Seeing's believing."
Turning to the bailiff Mr. Pinkerton inquired:
"What cell is Jim Cummings in?"
"Forty-three, sir."
"Will you take us there?"
"Yes, sir. This way, please."
The detectives with Moriarity followed the turnkey and passing the
entire length of the corridor paused in front of cell forty-three.
The door of solid sheet steel had a small circular opening in it through
which the guards could inspect their prisoners.
Opening this Mr. Pinkerton looked in, then stepping back told Moriarity
to step forward.
Dan applied his eye to the opening and in surprised tones exclaimed, "By
God, it IS Jim."
He again looked and clinching his fist pounded on the door. "Jim! Jim!"
he cried. "They got you at--"
"Here, none of that," said the bailiff in a gruff tone. "None of that, I
say," and taking Dan by the arm he marched him back to the office.
"You see, Mr. Moriarity, I told the truth," said Mr. Pinkerton in a
pleasant voice.
"Looks like it," growled Dan. "But I don't see how the devil you did
it."
"Very easily done. He gave himself up."
"What's that?" shouted Dan as he almost bounded from his chair.
"He gave himself up, I said," repeated Mr. Pinkerton.
"Jim Cummings gave himself up," said Dan slowly as if trying to grasp
the idea.
"Exactly. He saw we had him and that he couldn't get away, so to make
his sentence as light as possible he did the best thing he could do and
surrendered."
Almost dumbfounded by this surprise Dan sat speechless and stared
blankly at the detective.
"Do you know, Mr. Moriarity," Mr. Pinkerton continued, "you strike me as
being remarkably clever."
Arousing himself Dan answered in a savage tone:
"What are you driving at now?"
"I mean that up to the time that Cummings surrendered himself we thought
he was the principal man in the case, the prime mover and director of
the whole affair, but now we find we are mistaken. That is why I say you
are clever. You simply used him as a cat's paw, and played hide and seek
with our whole force, and a man that can do that as long as you did is
remarkably clever," and Mr. Pinkerton smiled admiringly at the man who
sat before him. Puzzled at the words, and trying to see beneath the
surface, Dan said: "Oh! come now, stop your chaffing, I won't squeal,
and you can't make me. What do you want me for anyway?"
Mr. Pinkerton's face became stern, and dropping the tone of levity which
he had employed, he opened the letter Sam had forged, and suddenly
handing it to Dan, said:
"We want to know if what Jim Cummings says there is true."
Somewhat impressed by Mr. Pinkerton's manner, Dan commenced to read the
letter.
At first he hardly understood its purport, but slowly the realization of
his friend's treachery came over him, and springing to his feet he
brought his fist down on his chair and shouted in angry tones:
"It's a damned lie!"
Without noticing the baliff or the detectives, he paced the floor with
angry strides, his eyes flashing and the veins in his forehead swelling
until they stood out like whip cords.
The baliff, at a sign from Mr. Pinkerton, stationed himself at the door,
but too excited to notice the movement, Dan continued to walk to and fro
like a caged lion.
"That is why he gave himself up, the coward--the lying turn-tale! The
treacherous dog! Swearing it off on me to save a few years of his
miserable life out of jail. See here!" stopping suddenly before Mr.
Pinkerton, "That traitor made me swear I would never squeal. All I got
out of the whole swag was two thousand dollars, but even then, if he had
done the square thing, I would have kept mum, though I were sent down to
rock-pile. But the man that would play that low, scaley trick on me is
going to suffer for it. What do you want to know?"
"Now you are getting sensible," said Mr. Pinkerton. "We want to get the
money. You know where it is? We know that last October a valise was sent
to you from St. Louis to Leavenworth, which you were to give to Cook. We
know that Cook received some of the stolen money. You had some, too. We
have shadowed you all over Kansas City. You have been seen in the White
Elephant playing faro, you were followed to the widow's fortune-telling
room. We know where you lived, and have letters which you received from
Jim Cummings.
"That isn't his name," broke in Dan.
Mr. Pinkerton stopped. He saw he had Dan up to the proper point, and
where before he would have died rather than given a grain of information
in connection with the case, he was now anxious to tell all he knew of
it. Dan continued:
"Jim Cummings isn't his right name any more'n it's mine. His name is
Fred Wittrock, and he lives in Chicago."
"Where?"
"At--West Lake street."
"Will you swear to that?" "Yes, I will; he runs a coalyard there. He ana
a man named Weaver. I had nothing to do with robbing the car. It was all
done before I ran across Wittrock near Pacific, and he gave me $2,000 to
keep my mouth shut and help plant the plunder."
"Do you know where it is planted?"
"Part of it, yes. Weaver and another fellow named Haight have some hid
in Chicago. Some is hid in the graveyard near Leaven worth, and some of
it behind Cook's cooper-shop."
"Has Fotheringham got any of it?"
"Fotheringham hadn't anything to do with it--any more'n you did--
Wittrock knocked him down and he couldn't help himself."
"Mr. Moriarity, if all this is true, you will be benefited by the
information you have given," then turning to the baliff, he said, "We
are through now." Moriarity, still cursing Cummings, was led back to the
cell, and the detectives left the jail for Chip's boarding-house,
"It's plain sailing now, boys," said Mr. Pinkerton; "this end has been
worked dry, and you must return to Chicago with me. Cummings, or rather
Wittrock, if Moriarity has spoken the truth, will certainly make for
Chicago, and you must be ready for him."
The next day the three detectives were on their way to Chicago, leaving
Barney, who had played the part of Jim Cummings in cell 43, to remain in
Kansas City and hunt for the "planted swag."
CHAPTER XVII.
JIM CUMMINGS IN CHICAGO--THE SPOTTED HOUSE--SHADOWED BY CHIP--JIM
CUMMINGS ARRESTED.
When Jim Cummings, by his bold strike for liberty, escaped the trap set
for him, he pushed his horse to its highest speed until he had put miles
between himself and the spot where the detectives had made the attempt
to capture him.
He saw that Dan was captured, and with Cook also in jail he felt the
toils of the law tightening around him. He must get out of the United
States. To Canada, Mexico, Brazil, it mattered little, but he must first
secure some of the money he had taken from the express car. To go to
Kansas City or Leavenworth to raise it was like putting his head into
the noose.
Chicago was the only place open for him, and to Chicago he must go as
fast as horse and steam could get him there.
While he was thinking of all these things his horse was plunging through
the dark over the plain, skirting the timber, dashing through streams of
water without staying his speed, and at last the ring of its hoofs
striking the steel rail, and the crunching of the gravel informed Jim
that he was crossing a railroad track.
He pulled in his panting steed, and, far on the horizon, he saw the
approaching head-light of an engine.
In the hurry and confusion incident to his escape, the outlaw had lost
his bearings, but knew that this must be the M., T. & K. R. R., and
shining over the head-light he saw the Great Dipper circling in the
heavens.
The train was, then, a south-bound train, either passenger or freight.
Looking south along the track, he spied a small light twinkling through
the night; and now, having recovered his reckoning, he surmised it was
the water-tank some miles below Blue Jacket.
He must reach that before the train arrived. Putting spurs to his horse,
he flew down the track, the gravel flying in all directions, his sure-
footed animal keeping the ties, nor did he pull rein or slack his speed
until the large tank of the water station rose above him. Jumping from
his horse, he walked to the keeper's shanty. The man was awake and
trimming his lantern, nor did he exhibit any surprise at the advent of
his belated visitor.
"What train is this coming?" asked Jim.
"Galveston express," answered the man.
"Does she take water here?"
"Every time."
"By Jove, that's lucky. I was on my way to Blue Jacket to catch it and
got turned around."
"Where's your horse?"
"Out near the tank. I will be back in five days and if you will take
care of it I will make it all right for you."
"That's O K. I often do that for the boys; but here's your train."
The long train of cars drew up and came to a standstill as Jim left the
shanty. Climbing aboard the smoker he found a seat and was soon on the
way to Galveston Arriving there he took a gulf steamer to New Orleans,
where he boarded an Illinois Central train and came to Chicago, where he
arrived a week after his escape from the detectives.
Late in the evening of the day on which he arrived he boarded a West
Lake street car and jumping off at--Lake street, knocked at the door of
a small frame building over which was the sign "F. Wittrock and Co.,
Hard and Soft Coal."
No lights were visible and for some time no answer came. Finally the
noise of shuffling feet were heard and a clear voice inquired:
"Who's there?"
"It is I, be not afraid," answered Cummings.
"Thunder and lightning, it's Fred," exclaimed the voice in accents of
great astonishment.
"Well, why the devil don't you let me in, then?" asked Cummings, his
mouth close to the keyhole.
"Not the front door, Fred. Go to the corner, then up the cross street
and come back through the coal yard."
Cummings did as he was told and entering the yard was met by Weaver, who
dragged him into the house, and after carefully closing the door, lit
the lamp and said:
"Dan's arrested."
"Tell me something I don't know, you fool."
"So is Cook."
"If you have any news to tell me out with it; if you haven't go get the
money. This cursed country is getting too hot for me. I'm off for
Brazil."
"The money is safe. Haight will be here soon. You are safe here."
"Don't you be too sure about that. I thought I was safe down at
Swanson's ranche, and damn it, two of those Pinkerton detectives ate
with me, slept with me and gambled with me. They had their hands on me
once but I floored one and got away. Dan, the coward, threw up his hand
the first bluff and was walked off with the darbies on him."
"Jim, suppose he should turn informer?"
A terrible frown blackened the outlaw's brow, his eyes became hard and
steely, and raising his hand above his head, he said:
"So help me God, I would hunt him up, tear his cowardly heart from his
breast and choke him to death with it, if I had to go to prison to do it
and was hung for it."
An involuntary shudder passed through Weaver as he heard these fearful
words and he hastened to say:
"No danger of Dan's squealing, Fred. He's true blue."
"If he don't give the express robbery away he can easily get out of this
other scrape. You see we had a lay to get away with Swanson's money and
the two detectives went in with us. That is how they got Dan and nearly
captured me. If Dan keeps his mouth shut they can't prove anything
against him on account of the Adams Express affair. So, you see, if he
is wise he will keep mum."
While the two men were thus conversing Chip and Sam were seated before
an open window on the second floor of the house opposite the coal
office. The city directory readily gave them the address of Wittrock's
coalyard, and securing this room a constant watch had been kept on the
spotted house.
Nothing suspicious had been noted during the day; customers had passed
in and out, and Sam had even bought a half ton of coal which was carried
to his room. The two men who ran the coalyard, whose names were found to
be Weaver and Haight, were well spoken of in the neighborhood and did
not look to be the sort of stuff out of which train robbers were
manufactured.
While buying the coal Sam had purposely called Weaver "Mr. Wittrock."
"That isn't my name," said Weaver, "Me and my pardner bought out
Wittrock last October."
"Excuse me," said Sam; "I saw the name over the door and thought you
were the gentleman."
"We don't like to pull down the sign. People know the yard by that name,
an' we don't care, so long as they buy the coal."
This was said so frankly and openly that Sam almost believed it to be
true. But the case was beginning to be too interesting to allow risks to
be taken, so the detectives kept their long and tedious watch night and
day. They had failed to see Cummings when he leaped from the car, for a
team crossing the track had delayed the car long enough for him to get
into the shadows on the other side of the street, so that the detectives
little knew that the man they wanted was only just across the street
from them.
They recognized Haight when he let himself in with a latch-key, but as
this was not unusual, they thought little of it.
When Cummings left the coal office, he passed through the alley, and
going south to Randolph street, returned to the hotel for the night.
The next day two of the Pinkerton force relieved Sam and Chip, who
immediately went to their room at the Commercial Hotel, where they
boarded.
As Chip was eating his supper that evening and glancing over the Evening
Journal, a large broad-shouldered man, wearing a heavy mustache, passed
the table, and, seating himself at another one, faced the detective.
It was part of Chip's religion never to allow any man to pass him or
remain near him without looking at him carefully, so lowering the paper
until his eye could see just above the upper edge, he glanced at the
new-comer. A thrill like an electric shock passed through him, for in
every feature, except the heavy mustache, Chip saw Jim Cummings, the
Adams Express robber.
The broad girth of his shoulders, the triangular gold-filling of his
front tooth, the peculiar manner of hanging his head slightly on one
side as if he were a trifle deaf, all belonged to Jim Cummings, all but
the mustache. Was it real or false? If real, the man was not the noted
robber, but if false--well, if it were false Chip had a bit of paper in
his pocket which would take it off.
He felt in his pocket for the warrant, and to his disgust recollected
that Sam had it.
He could do nothing without it.
He timed his supper so nicely with that of the suspected man that they
both rose together, Chip passing out first; but going down the stairs he
fell back and the electric light revealed to the keen eyes of the
detective that the mustache was false.
It WAS the train robber.
Cummings, simply stopping a moment to buy a cigar, walked through the
office, then crossed Lake on Dearborn street and walked to Randolph,
closely followed by Chip.
A Randolph street car came along and Jim sprang on the front platform,
Chip jumping on the rear one. Passing through the car, he opened the
front door and stood beside Cummings, who was puffing his cigar, his
coat collar pulled up and his fur cap drawn down over his ears.
Pulling a cigar from his pocket, Chip felt for some matches, but
apparently not finding any, he asked:
"I beg your pardon, but would you mind giving me some fire?"
Cummings held out his lighted cigar, at the same time darting a
searching look at his questioner, but in the handsome, well-dressed,
almost dandified young man before him, he failed to recognize the
uncouth, grimacing Scip of Swanson's ranche.
The pair rode along together, and after passing Halsted street some
distance, Chip saw that he was getting ready to jump off at the next
cross street, so, as soon as the car reached the street, Chip stepped
off and walked briskly toward Lake street.
Cummings rode to the other crossing and did the same, utterly without
any suspicion whatever.
Although Chip walked straight ahead, he kept his eye on the dark figure
moving parallel to his course on the other side, and saw it turn
abruptly to the left and enter the alley.
Quickening his steps, Chip hurried to the house in which the watch was
kept, and bounding up the steps, to his delight, found Sam in the room.
"Cummings is over there," said Chip, excitedly.
"Sure?"
"As certain as I am that I live."
"Come on, then!" and Sam ran down the steps, followed by Chip and the
other two detectives.
As they reached the foot of the stairs the door of the coal office
opened and three men stepped out on the sidewalk.
"The devil," said Chip, "that is more than I bargained for."
The three men stood a moment conversing, then the detectives heard
Cummings say:
"I'll be back in an hour," as he turned east and walked away.
The other two, Weaver and Haight, turned in the opposite direction and
sauntered slowly along.
Turning to the two men who had been sent to relieve them, Chip said:
"Follow those two, and arrest them if possible without any noise; your
warrant covers them."
By this time Cummings was some little distance below them, strolling
leisurely along, and at the next corner the detectives saw him enter a
saloon.
Crossing the street, their revolvers in their side coat-pockets ready
for use, Sam and Chip entered the saloon.
Cummings, without the false mustache, which he had either removed or
lost (in fact it dropped off as he entered the coalyard) had just
ordered a drink as the detectives entered.
Without a second's hesitation Chip stepped up to him, and placing his
hand on the train robber's shoulder, said quietly:
"Fred Wittrock, alias Jim Cummings, I want you."
Wittrock sprang back as though he had been shot, and glaring like an
enraged lion, seemed about to rush upon the audacious detective.
In a twinkling the cold barrels of two revolvers were leveled at his
head and, with the address and skill of a practiced adept, Sam passed
his twisted steel wire "come alongs" around the outlaw's wrist, and Jim
Cummings' career stopped short. Any attempt at escape was hopeless, and
in silent surrender he held out his other hand and Chip snapped the
hand-cuffs on him.
Before the people in the saloon had recovered from their astonishment,
the detectives had taken desperate prisoner away, and finding a livery
stable near drove to the Pinkerton headquarters. Haight and Weaver had
not gone a block before the two detectives arrested them without any
struggle, so that within one short half hour the three principals of the
GREAT ADAMS EXPRESS robbery were placed behind the bars.
CHAPTER XVIII.
JIM CUMMINGS IN PINKERTON'S SWEAT-BOX--HIS CONFESSION.
All night long "Jim Cummings" walked the narrow limits of his room--
still undaunted and fearless as of old. The gravity of his position only
made him the more daring, and when the first beams of the morning broke
through the barred window he had recovered his usual grit and nerve, and
determined to die hard and game. Mr. Pinkerton, alone, came into the
room just as the outlaw had finished the excellent breakfast which had
been served him. Jim looked up, and holding out his hand, in a cheery
voice said:
"Good morning, Mr. Pinkerton."
For a second Mr. Pinkerton hardly knew what to say. He was prepared to
encounter either a desperate or a sullen prisoner, and was somewhat
taken back when he received such a cordial greeting. It was but a
second, and fully alive to all the tricks and maneuvers practiced by
arrested criminals, he was on the qui vive.
"Good morning, Mr. 'Cummings'. I trust you have had a good breakfast?"
"Oh, fair."
"You slept well?"
"Tip-top."
"I trust you will be able to amuse yourself during the day."
"I won't amuse you, that's certain."
"You have been doing that for some time."
"That's all right. Now, what am I here for?"
"Just so. What ARE you here for?"
"You've got the wrong man, Mr. Pinkerton."
"Indeed?" "Just now you called me 'Mr. Cummings'."
"I should, perhaps, have said Mr. Wittrock."
"What did you call me 'Cummings' for, then."
"As you christened yourself you ought to know."
"I'm arrested, of course, now for what?"
"To tell the fact, Mr. Wittrock, it is because some time last October
you played a little joke on the Adams Express Company, and they
appreciated it so highly that they hired me to find you so that they
could tell you so."
"You dare accuse me of committing that robbery?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Why, man, I wasn't within five hundred miles of the place when it
occurred."
"Where were you?"
"I was in New Orleans."
"Positive of that?"
"I can PROVE it."
"You can?"
"Yes, I can. You go over to my coalyard at--West Lake street, and ask my
partner, Weaver. He will tell you where I was at that time."
"Is he your partner?"
"Yes."
"Strange, very strange. He said he bought you out last October."
"You've been there, have you?"
"That is what he said."
"He lies."
"Or you do."
"You wouldn't dare say that outside of this room."
"Don't get excited, Mr. Wittrock. We have had enough bantering. You
might as well make a clean breast of the whole affair, for we have a
clear case against you."
"I tell you I was at New Orleans at the time."
"You were not. Listen to me and I can prove you are a liar."
Wittrock flushed, and he began to get angry, which was just what Mr.
Pinkerton wanted, and glaring at his persecutor he folded his arms and
settled defiantly back in his chair. Mr. Pinkerton quietly continued:
"A week before the robbery was committed you and a man named Haight took
a room at Chestnut street. On the twenty-third of October you sent a
valise to Daniel Moriarity at Leavenworth, Kansas, and a letter
instructing him to give its contents to Oscar Cook, of Kansas City. A
few days after you committed the robbery, and in a cave near Pacific,
you, with Moriarity and Haight, divided the ill-gotten wealth. You then
rowed down the river to St. Louis, or near there, and from thence went
to Kansas City. You were often seen playing faro at the White Elephant,
and one night you knocked one of my men senseless when he had arrested
Moriarity, and took him to old Nance, the widow. Still later, you, Cook
and Moriarity took refuge at Swanson's ranche in the Indian Territory,
and after attempting to rob your host, which attempt was frustrated by
my men, you came, in some roundabout way, to Chicago, where you put up
at the Commercial Hotel, disguised by a false mustache. Every evening
you went to West Lake street, and last night you were arrested. Now, Mr.
Wittrock, what have you to say?"
"That's a very pretty yarn; but as I don't happen to be the man that did
all that I don't see how it concerns me."
"Look at that and tell me what you have to say," and Mr. Pinkerton laid
before him the sworn deposition of Daniel Moriarity, in which all the
facts that Mr. Pinkerton had been relating were set forth, Wittrock did
not show a trace of feeling other than amusement, as he read the long
and legally worded document, and passing it back to Mr. Pinkerton with a
gesture of disdain, he said:
"So on the strength of that cock-and-bull story you mean to hold me for
that robbery?"
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